The Candle Which Burns Twice As Bright
by Jason Cunningham a.k.a. WhillJ
Summary: A young orphan from the Iridonia system feels a call from far across space and time. As the call becomes an irresistible pull, the boy hones his skills along the way in preparation for his role in the thousand-year Great Work; for he will one day become L


The Candle Which Burns Twice As Bright…  
By Jason Cunningham  
  
***  
  
The Frontier. Out there on the Rim, removed from the narcissism and debauchery of the core worlds,   
life and death were not regulated as stringently as the taxes. Out there dreams could still come true; real ones,   
not holos or spice-induced hallucinations. Out there forgotten worlds lay seemingly dormant, perhaps for the   
best. Galactic refuse and civilizations none too cosmopolitan. Out there, magic still held dominion.  
  
  
***  
  
You are gone now, my sweet one, my dark death's head. Ah, I knew the moment would come. Inevitable,   
really. I knew your secrets, and you knew that I did. I could never hope for a more pure, refined extension   
of my will. You might have once been the Chosen One, but instead you were the arrow that pointed to him.   
Singularly focused on your will to serve the darkness, you were too pure…  
  
I.  
  
Korriban.  
  
A name from the distant past. Thousands of years ago the great Sith War had rolled through the   
galaxy like a plague of fire, charring nameless dozens of worlds in its unholy hunger. A conflict of   
ideology, as so many are, but on a scale previously unimaginable. The Dark Ones, the chaos lords, led their   
armies of super-warriors in thrall against the noble order of the Jedi Knights and the armies of the Republic.   
And at the center of the maelstrom, the Force. The embodiment of all that is mystical. The energy field   
that surrounds and binds the universe, some would call it. The Dark Ones fed on their hatred, their anger,   
their fear and aggression. The dark side made them mighty, incredibly so. Their masters felt it was the only   
true manifestation of that power, and they managed to sway countless others to this view as well.   
Convinced by persuasion, or convinced by the blade. Convinced by the very nature of the Force they were   
made to swear allegiance to.  
  
The Light Ones held a different philosophy, of course, a different ideology. Through passivity,   
through harmony, through order and discipline the Jedi cultivated their connection with the Force.   
Illuminated guardians of the Galactic Republic for a thousand generations, the light side of the Force was   
like the state religion. Many cults of this mystical energy existed; some warrior, some philosopher, some   
artisan, but the most famous and most powerful were unquestionably the Jedi. The Holy Jedi, a paradox:   
servants more powerful than their masters. They provided protection to the wealthiest and most powerful   
alliance of peoples in over twenty millennia of recorded history. Naturally, this very duty made them   
influential in their own right.  
  
Power and influence attract the notice of ambitious men, covetous men. Whether those particular   
attributes were gained through just means was of no consequence –others will always hate out of envy.   
These were rejected by the Order of the Jedi. Very many were rejected, actually, as admittance into the   
order was no casual undertaking. The ultimate authority, the Jedi Council itself, screened all candidates.   
Sitting in their monolithic spire, high above the petty political squabbling of the Senate, these Masters   
determined the worthiness of the prospective knight. Many felt the call, but few were chosen. Those who   
were accepted into the order soon faced their fears; training was difficult, arduous. Meditation, physical   
exertion, studies (both martial and metaphysical), and combat exercises comprised the pupil's days and   
nights. In a galaxy of indulgence, the Jedi apprentice was required to abstain.  
  
The Order had a high failure rate, naturally, as training grew more difficult each passing day. The   
prospective knights were required to cultivate the most serious mindset. The Jedi felt a strange kind of   
pride at their high failure rate amongst entered apprentices, a self-congratulatory elitism which reassured   
the Order that the final product was the cream of the crop. Others felt differently however. Those rejected   
and those expelled did not forget their shame so easily. Some, through their own (or because of others')   
insecurities never even made the attempt. One does not shrug off or forget how close to great power one   
comes so easily. These apprentices, these novices, these apparent failures many times moved off on their   
own in search of alternative enlightenment. And most of these did not soon forget their humiliation at the   
hands of the smug Jedi.  
  
The rejected and unworthy alike wandered the many systems of the Republic, seeking the   
forbidden ways of the Force denied to them by the pompous Jedi Council. Always rumors there were, and   
with these rumors, promise of excitement and adventure. Rumors of ancient scrolls, of powerful artifacts,   
of sleeping masters. Hushed whispers of the gateway to absolute power, of skills unknown even by the   
most exulted Jedi. A second nature of the Force.  
The Dark Side.  
  
As the masterless apprentices and adepts wandered throughout the known galaxy, a feeling began   
to come over them, each individually. One by one this feeling (for that is the only description for it)   
reached out to their minds. At first it was nothing but a dark flutter behind the eyelids, a twinge of ice in   
their bowels. Over time, however, the twinge became a call, and the call became a pull. Soon the feeling no   
longer felt strange, no longer felt alien. It became, in fact, alluring. The wanderers soon began to converge,   
from all points across the galaxy. A trickle at first, in dribs and drabs the wanderers came. Their numbers   
steadily increased over time, till an icy river of power-hungry beings flowed into that system on the   
outskirts of known space. Inevitably the wanderers converged on a single world, and began to meet each   
other face to face. Cautious at first, then increasingly suspicious, eventually the beings fed off of each   
other's fears, letting their superstitions and unfounded hate well up into unbridled aggression. Then   
suddenly, in the midst of the rage, at the precipice of the chaos came a voice. They stopped, their weapons   
falling to the hard cold ground, as their minds became a mass of confusion. A voice that was not heard with   
ears but deep inside the mind. A voice that touched the individual souls of each and every being present   
like an icy finger.   
Welcome my children. In time, you will call me Master.  
  
  
That was thousands of years ago, a long time to forget the atrocities inflicted on the galaxy by the   
Sith Lords and their legions of Dark Jedi. The light-side Jedi assembled of course, waging their crusade   
against the tide of evil. Whole systems burned as the Republic militaries and the Jedi fought against the Sith   
and their evil allies, the Mandalorians, who were led by their masked berserker warlord. The conflict raged   
as the fight was taken from planet to planet: on land, under the sea, and in space. Annihilation became a   
way of life and death was a constant companion. Many battles were won and lost on both sides of the line.   
Hundreds of thousands, then millions of lives were made forfeit during the onslaught. The darkness   
threatened to swallow everything…  
  
Some say it was the superior training and skill of the Jedi that ultimately gained the final victory.   
Some say it was the greedy ambition of the Dark Lord known as Bane which led to the downfall of the   
Sith. Many more say that the light side of the Force is inherently more powerful than the dark side. Be they   
as they may, the tide of battle turned. The Dark Ones were pursued across the galaxy: to starry Ithul, to   
Mandalore's scarred plains, to the deep jungles of Yavin 4.  
Finally, the battle was taken to Korriban, the homeworld of the Sith, where the Dark Lord Bane himself   
was ultimately vanquished.  
  
Or so it was thought…  
  
***  
  
The youth picked his way over a barren landscape, eyes attempting to adjust to the odd shimmering light   
that coruscated off the blasted features. I feel nothing but death, thought the youth… and yet I do not   
fear… A deep mist hung thick around his booted feet, and dewy drops of condensate beaded on the smooth   
metallic grip of his oversized lightsaber handle. As he crested the summit of a small rise, the youth paused   
at the top to survey his surroundings more closely. For as far as the eye could see, bleak grey ruins   
dominated the scene, with the occasional circular impression of an aged crater. It was obvious that nothing   
had lived here for millennia.  
  
II.  
  
This deep out, everyone is suspicious, thought Kizil Bash. Interstellar transport was fairly   
affordable and routine within the core systems, but ships were harder to come by as one ranged further and   
further outward from the hub. The very act of booking passage to systems on the frontier hinted at unsavory   
business. This was where civilization broke down, where beings took their lives into their own hands. The   
protective touch of the Jedi was felt lightly, if sometimes not at all. Here men made their own laws.  
Men like Kizil Bash, who viewed the other passengers on the unregistered transport with eyes as   
cold as the deep vacuum of space. Many boring hours in hyperspace lay ahead of Bash, and he decided   
some mindless conversation with others might pass the time.  
"Hey now, the hyperdrive motivator on this vessel sounds a bit irregular, wouldn't you say?" Bash   
asked offhand to a group of three apparent merchants. The trio stopped their hushed game of high-stakes   
Sabaac and looked slowly toward the bulky figure. Initially indignant, one of the merchants offered a   
guarded reply.  
"Yessss… it certainly sssseemsss a bit…twitchy…" the smallest of the three, a Twi'lek named Rid   
Valubela replied in the common tongue. He felt it best not to be rude to the curious passenger. For Kizil   
Bash was a warrior. More than that, he was a member of an underground sect of Force adepts, a cult of   
warrior-priests known as the Krath.  
Said to be extinct (like so many fearsome animals), the Krath were known only as legends to most   
of the Republic. The closer one got to the Rim however, the more myth could take on a healthy reality.   
Many strange tales came back to the core worlds from the outlying regions, and the small groups of   
passengers on the chartered pirate freighter were wary of the aura emanating from the Paladin. For Bash's   
strength lay in the dark side, the violent and aggressive nature of the Force. While not regarded in the   
manner of Jedi or especially the infamous Sith, dark servants had been known of from time to time, and it   
was best not to cross them lightly.  
The Paladin looked haughtily toward the two mute partners. "Ha ha, and you two, have you no   
opinion? Come now, what think you?"  
The other two merchants looked at each other briefly, then spoke with trepidation. "Yes, quite   
irregular friend. The operators must look into that sometime." A pregnant pause. A slight scowl.  
"Perhaps a phase imbalance in the motivator…" ventured the third, pulling his vibrantly hued   
robes about him in an uncomfortable gesture. The potbellied little man silently fingered the trigger of his   
snub-nosed blaster underneath the folds. A slight sweat broke out on his forehead.  
"Ha ha, yes yes that sounds about right!" the Paladin bellowed, in an insincere display of   
jocularity. Bash liked to fool with strangers when he was bored, and he had nothing but time to kill right   
now. "This hyperspace is a wonderful thing is it not? Well of course, I don't understand all of the   
mathematics involved, certainly, but it allows species from all over the galaxy to mingle together!"  
"Yesss, indeed it doessss…" responded the T'wei'lek gambler, more at ease now by the warrior's   
apparent friendly behavior. Others on the transport turned away from the potential excitement, to retreat   
further into their own musings. Among these was a young handsome humanoid male, head bald except for   
a ridge of horn-like protrusions arrayed like a crown. The youth sat in quiet contemplation, staring intently   
at a tiny lizard-like animal on his arm. Occasionally he would reach out and feed it something small. Bash   
noticed the young man, with his unusual extravagant dress and powerfully built features. His green eyes   
focused most importantly on the object slung across the youth's back. At first glance, it appeared to be a   
long metal cylindrical handle, just under the length of a man's arm. Upon closer scrutiny (and with certain   
technical and historical knowledge) Bash came to the realization that the object was in fact a weapon. An   
ancient weapon by the looks of it, meticulously designed and eccentrically shaped. It was the weapon of a   
Jedi.  
A lightsaber.  
The Paladin turned his attention back to the uncomfortable merchant trio, who took the pause as   
leave to resume their game. He put an end to that thinking soon enough.  
"You, for instance!" Bash said, quickly redirecting his gaze from the oblivious youth to the tallest   
of the merchants, a human wearing a turban and possessing a face much like a weathered bantha. The man   
jumped with a slight start. "Where might a fellow like you be from?" It was obvious that the matter was   
none of the Paladin's business, but the merchant felt obliged to answer.  
"I happen to hail from Coruscant, sir. And yourself?" he replied with his own question, a hint of   
arrogance in his voice. This was certainly not lost on the Paladin.  
"Coruscant…you don't say? Hmmm….my….the capital, eh? Most impressive!" exclaimed Bash,   
louder than necessary. The gamblers began to feel uncomfortable once again. The merchant with the turban   
was increasingly agitated at this undue attention, and wished the armored figure would simply leave him   
alone. "And how is business in the opulent galactic Capital? I hear it is quite rewarding to be a merchant   
these days!" Bash had already become tired of his play, as the weapon slung across the lizard-boy's back   
had held his attention. He turned on the clearly relieved gamers and moved closer to the youth, still   
engrossed in his small pet.  
"You there," Bash directed to the seated form, "you are dressed in a most interesting manner, are   
you perhaps from the Malastare system?"   
"No", replied the youth, without looking up.  
Bash was mildly taken aback by the stoic reply, but his insatiable curiosity was also piqued. "That   
is an interesting little friend you have young man", said Bash gesturing to the lizard, "is he trained?"  
"No."  
Now Bash became irritated, he felt he needed to get a response out of the persnickety lad. "That   
object on your back. It is in fact a lightsaber, is it not?" At this the youth stopped his attentions to his small   
companion and looked up. He had fiery, enchanting saffron eyes that seemed to smolder in their intensity.   
The lizard scampered up the arm of the youth's tunic and disappeared.  
The normally indifferent youth, so far so quiet on several topics presented, demonstrated he could   
in fact speak at length and eloquently on subjects that interested him. "Yes, it is. It is an ancient weapon   
that I have come to hold through extraordinary circumstance", began the youth. "I have had the weapon   
now for quite some time, since I was a little boy, in fact," Bash nodded and grunted, as if to say 'continue'.   
"Since I have possessed it for so long and have spent so much time with it naturally it has become a part of   
me, almost an extension of my will. Sometimes I feel it is my only true equal," Continuing his enthusiasm,   
he added, "It was forged generations ago by Master Vodo-Siosk Baas."  
It was now Bash's turn to become indignant. "See here young fellow, that seems an interesting   
story and all of that, but Baas was a legendary Master Jedi. That is quite a boast for one so young as you   
are. Much less for one who is not even a Jedi Knight", These last words, the warrior seemed to spit out   
between his teeth. "I suppose you consider yourself very good handling that weapon, eh?" Bash prodded   
mischievously. He had grown tired of these young fighters with their force pikes and laser-swords, lone   
guns who bragged about their skills and secret fighting methods.  
"Actually, I am on a search for worthy opponents," the youth replied magnanimously. This caused   
Bash to raise an eyebrow. "I have heard tell legends of a sect of warriors called the Krath, and look forward   
to challenging their best swordmasters to a duel. I specifically seek the one called Aegripa. Do you, by   
chance, know of him?"  
This was too much for the warrior-priest, who could not stand to listen to the arrogant youth any   
longer. In matters of the Force and battle he felt he held much authority. "Look here young man," Bash   
began loudly and pompously, "no one much minds young men bragging about their exploits and abilities,   
but you have gone too far." The other passengers in the hold began to stir nervously and look toward the   
lecturing Paladin. The youth sat, placid.  
"You have boasted that you possess a rare ancient Jedi weapon. You have also bragged about your   
prowess using it, and then have gone so far as to have made a public challenge against forces you can   
barely comprehend!" Bash began to build momentum, while the passengers listened and the youth sat   
immobile. "It is past time I tell you who you are speaking to laddie…" the Paladin continued. "I am Kizil   
Bash, Paladin of the Seventh Citadel of the Krath, instructed in war and in the Craft by my patron Master   
Aegripa!" Bash exclaimed triumphantly. "I have half a mind to teach you a sharp lesson about the price of   
such petty bravado!" This said, he stormed off to the rear of the hold, grumbling about youths that know   
not their place.  
  
The Paladin stood, one foot on the lower railing, chin in hand quietly. He felt a pull at his left   
sleeve. "Excuse me, sir", said the youth, in an even voice.  
Again the youth tugged, "Sir…" he requested, his tone still calm.  
Bash spun around, irritated. "Yes what is it?" he spat.  
The youth spoke with a voice so low and controlled as to almost be hypnotic. "Sir, you have   
spoken loudly enough so that these fellow passengers could hear, spoken of my so-called boasts and   
suspicious of my skill. You have insulted my honor, and, in effect called me a liar. Since you are yourself a   
warrior, you must understand that I now must reclaim my honor."  
What's this, Bash thought, what could this upstart have in mind?  
"I intend on demonstrating my skill in front of these passengers, to show that I am not merely   
boasting." The youth looked larger in stature than he did when seated, very athletic and powerfully built. "I   
will ask you to test me and be witness to my skills", the youth declared loud enough for all within the hold   
to hear. The air seemed charged, alive.  
"I'd be delighted, young man!" Bash announced equally loud. "Let's see now… you three, stop   
that game!" he bellowed at the gambling merchants he so recently was pestering. "Hand over those Sabacc   
cards, for I will put them to good use!" The warrior-priest reached a gauntleted fist into their midst and   
snatched several of the cards.  
"If you are as skilled as you boast, young one, you should have no problem with this little test!"   
Bash was almost jubilant. "If you are a swordsman, a real swordsman, you should have no problem cutting   
down each one of these playing cards before they hit the ground after I toss them all into the air!" Bash   
exclaimed, to the gasps of the huddled passengers.  
The youth paused, waiting for the furor to die down. He addressed the smirking Paladin directly,   
"Your test is equitable sir, and I will endeavor to meet success," the youth stated in a low, even tone.   
"Well, anytime you are ready then, my boy!" Bash beamed.   
"I am ready, sir", came the immediate reply.  
The passengers, all generally unimpressed by the random comings and goings of life, were circled   
around the scene expectantly, with baited breath. The statuesque youth pulled himself to his full form,   
closed his eyes briefly, and then stood at the ready. Bash fanned the 12 cards out in his fingers waiting for   
the youth to draw his saber, but coming to the conclusion that the arrogant youngster planned to perform   
the impossibly difficult simultaneous draw and strike, threw the cards into the air in a swift motion.  
There was a moment of total confusion as the youthful form moved in an arcing, balletic blur.   
There was the unmistakable sharp snap of laser blade ignition, the smell of ozone, and then the involuntary   
scream of Kizil Bash. Bash fell back, grappling at his chest, for the youth had executed a movement that   
culminated in the blade flashing toward the warrior-priest's heart.  
"Wh-wh-whaaat?" yelled the Krath, after the realization that the laser blade from the youth's   
weapon had found it's way into the muscle of his chest, where the tip of the antique crimson blade had just   
burned through his sacred initiate's tattoo from the Krath Sect. The shaken warrior fell flat on his posterior,   
hands grappling at his cauterized flesh, as 24 halves of Sabacc cards rained down upon his trembling head.  
"Now do you understand?" asked the youth, lizard perched vigilant on his shoulder.  
  
***  
  
My hand reached across the cosmos, through time and space, stirring the stagnant pool the Jedi left in   
their vainglorious wake. Despite the incomprehensible distance of the void you were the first to feel it,   
though you could never have known. The others had been closer, and many arrived before thee. Beings of   
power converged from all points in the galaxy, drawn by my call. The first ones arrived, filled with   
trepidation, unsure of purpose and questioning their own sanity. All of my children, so much the same;   
beautiful in your rage, so powerful in your hatred. Magnificent in your savageness, and vulnerable in your   
fear. I loved you all, each of you my vengeance incarnate. From the outset of the gathering, however, I   
knew that there would indeed be one yet to come. It would be you who would once again announce our   
presence to the galaxy, like the proud cock crowing at dawn. The sleeping madness was waking, wiping   
away the sand from its wild eyes.   
  
III.  
  
The transport had jumped out of hyperspace with a rumbling growl. The passengers, heretofore   
silent in the wake of the explosive display of violent skill, began a nervous chatter that came with the false   
security of their imminent arrival to their destination. The youth had resumed his seat on the deck of the   
hold, lotus-fashion. Breathing steady, spirit placid, he resumed his attentions to his small reptilian   
companion. He never once turned to look at the disgraced and enraged Paladin, who had retreated to the   
most isolated section of the vessel to nurse his flesh and replay the horrifying events of the recent past over   
and over again in his mind. He swore silent oaths and epithets and shuddered at each breath of singed air he   
drew. How could this be, he lamented. Who is this youth who so shamed me?  
Bash's rage at his defeat and humiliation burned within him, and his eyes bore into the back of the   
seated youth's horned head. He was vaguely aware of the charged atmosphere and the wide-eyed and fear-  
stricken passengers pretending not to notice him. He considered drawing his own saber and cutting the   
youth down. But he knew, knew in his heart this would be suicidal. He felt the power of the youth's aura,   
and had witnessed his technique. No, a live blade would not take him. Bash let go his wounded chest and   
placed his hands together under his sable cloak, slowly weaving his fingers into the nine sacred forms, the   
ones that would focus the dark Krath magic. With the insertion of the secret and conditional 10th form, he   
would show the young arrogant swaggerer what real power was. As the Paladin drew close to the   
completion of his suit, he began to experience a backlash of dark power; an ebb at first but then slowly   
building like a black tsunami of strength –Bash released his fingers suddenly and snapped into real-time,   
cold sweat upon his brow. The youth turned and looked directly at him, locking eyes. The two stared hard   
at each other for a long silent moment, the shaken Paladin finally dropping his gaze.  
I will need help, thought Bash.  
  
  
The motley assortment of passengers waded their way through the beggars and merchants, denizens of all   
the local docking bays. The talk amongst them was of an encounter in the ship's hold, of a spectacular   
horned youth with a magnificent crimson blade. Barlaam and Joasaph overheard these whispers with some   
alacrity. Sturdily built and well conditioned, Joasaph was the taller of the two young warrior-priests,   
whereas Barlaam was stocky and compact. Both entered apprentice Paladins of the Krath Sect, they had   
been instructed to await their patron's arrival and to conduct him safely to the citadel. When all of the   
passengers had seemingly disembarked, the two young warriors looked at each other quizzically, both were   
wondering if they had the wrong platform or the wrong ship. Nervously, they began to advance toward the   
exit ramp, when the familiar form of their patron approached them. Something was wrong, however, and   
both recognized it immediately. Patron seemed to be walking stiffly; he was pale and wincing in pain.   
Barlaam and Joasaph questioned Bash about his condition, but he silenced them.  
"It is nothing", snapped the Paladin, "conduct me to my quarters." Both apprentices knew better   
than to push an answer from their patron, but both also felt quavering tremors that could not be left open to   
interpretation. Power was at work.  
As the day drew to a close and night wrapped its arms around the land, Kizil Bash had retired to   
his quarters and ordered that his meal be brought to him and left. Barlaam and Joasaph decided they needed   
to act on their suspicions.  
"The people leaving the transport earlier today, it sounded as if they were speaking of a recent   
conflict," said Barlaam.  
"Yes, much the impression that I received. Do you suspect as I that perhaps Patron was somehow   
involved?" inquired Joasaph.  
"Perhaps, but…he seems strange. It almost seems as if he had been…injured. I cannot accept it,"   
Barlaam said resolute.  
"Well, there is only one way to find out," Joasaph looked at Barlaam and stood up abruptly. "We   
will find out what precisely what happened on that craft today, if we have to wring a few necks to get the   
information so be it!"  
Both apprentice warriors marched out of the citadel with a determined stride.   
  
  
The local town was festive in its atmosphere that evening, alive with talk of fantastic things, plump with the   
booty of ill-gotten gains. Voices rose and fell in a mellifluous wave, merchants bartered with customers.   
Speeders and beasts of burden ferried their cargoes to all parts of the municipality. Transports rose lazily in   
the distance, supported by invisible repulsorlifts, before blasting into the upper atmosphere. Through this   
scene Barlaam and Joasaph waded a path.  
The duo muscled their way through crowds of species seeking various pleasures, looking for   
information that would lead them to a satisfactory answer regarding their harried patron. Although young   
and still not as street-smart as Bash, the duo knew where the most likely place to find answers lay.  
The pleasure slave quarters.  
Barlaam and Joasaph wove their way into the town's infamous red light district, past the brash lights and   
brassy music. Past enticing open doorways which promised multiple pleasures of the flesh. Onward they   
strode, their mission the only thing occupying their thoughts. After several hours' worth of intense and   
sometimes violent interrogation, Barlaam and Joasaph had satisfied themselves that they were in possession   
of the facts, but this knowledge did not ease the burdens upon their hearts.  
"I still cannot believe it!" Barlaam whined sullenly. He was continually wiping the back of his   
gloved hand over his forehead and eyes. "Patron, humiliated! What went wrong?  
"Silence stupid!" barked Joasaph. "It is obvious that Patron Kizil was taken by surprise, or at the   
very least was physically ill. In either event, we know what our duty is!" the warrior said, as if making a   
solemn vow. He placed a hand on Barlaam's shoulder and beckoned him to his feet. "We shall avenge our   
patron and bring honor back to the citadel. Come, we know where the damned effete boy is retiring for the   
night." The two warriors had managed to locate the youth through information given them by an   
intimidated (and slightly battered) bartender.   
"Alright, I am with you," replied Barlaam, but let us get several of the others to insure our victory.   
We could do it ourselves, of course," he ventured, less sure of himself than he sounded, "but it is better to   
be prepared".  
"Agreed. Let's off!" exclaimed Joasaph, as the two apprentices broke into a steady run.  
  
  
The night held its breath as the hour of the wolf approached. The sounds of revelry faded like mist, to be   
replaced by a low-level but ever-present buzz. It would be easy to slip into a drowsy dreamlike trance. Easy   
if you did not have revenge in your heart. Easy, maybe, if bloodlust did not coarse through your veins. The   
six young apprentices stealthily approached the hostel where their newly avowed enemy lay, unaware and   
unarmed. Joasaph and Barlaam led the ambush party to what would be a glorious victory for the Citadel.  
"Now maintain loose combat formation," Joasaph instructed in a harsh whisper. He was the leader   
of nearly all martial classes in the Citadel, and the other boys always looked to him for direction. "We will   
take the bastard with shock and numbers. There will be no phony tricks this time," Joasaph hissed. The   
others grunted their agreement. Silently they stalked, bypassing the front entrance, in favor for a rear   
access. Barlaam, always most force-sensitive, felt a twist in his stomach.   
"Ah, comrades…. hold a moment….I feel something…" Barlaam began to stammer to the disdain   
of his adrenaline-driven companions. But as they forced Barlaam ahead despite his protest, shouldering   
through the rear access, their fate had already been decided.  
Two died before they could even scream; dismembered and quartered in a moment, exploding in a   
burst of charcoal gore. Two stumbled forward into the hostel, careening on the sickening refuse that   
spattered the floor. Two others tumbled backward out into the open. The youth with blazing eyes stepped   
into the doorway, filling it. His heavy, two-handed crimson saber had tasted its second blood of the night.  
  
***  
  
It rose up from the ground like an artificial mountain, impossibly high. The first and only sign of   
intelligence demonstrated anywhere on this blasted and barren rock. The youth saw it first from several   
kilometers distance, but as time passed and his approach brought him nearer, he knew that his quest was   
almost at an end. When he reached the base of the monument, he fell to his knees, and raised his eyes   
skyward. A dark grey five-sided pyramid stood before him; its base as big as a city, its top lost among the   
polluted haze that passed for clouds. He removed the glove from his left hand, and placed his palm against   
the monument's side. The youth closed his eyes and rested in the shadow of the monolith for an   
incalculable period of time. When he opened his eyes at long last, he had his answer.   
A door stood open before him.  
  
  
IV.  
  
"Ha ha ha!" the youth bellowed, lightsaber filling the night sky with the scent of blood and ozone.   
The light from the weapon glinted off the polished horns around the top of his skull, and reflected off both   
the pools of entrails and the eight wide eyes now locked upon him. "You thought to take me in the night,   
like thieves! I know of you brave Krath. Come, fools, I shall be doing the taking!" the youth nearly   
screamed. No longer the placid model of meditation like he was on the transport, the youth now filled his   
thoughts with hate and let them overflow into his actions. He allowed the darkness to well up within him,   
and welcomed it's cold embrace.  
The apprentice Paladins, taken by surprise, began to gather their composure, but not by much.   
Barlaam and Joasaph were still alive, though separated by the doorway. With them were two boyhood   
companions, all part of the same class as the two slaughtered and stinking corpses that littered both sides of   
the access. The four stunned boys had instinctively drawn their weapons due to years of repetitive training.   
Each wielded a long blade in the right hand and a short parrying blade in the left. All of the Krath weapons   
were of the finest construction, and employed small field generators and high frequency oscillators. They   
were as formidable as any lightsaber in the right hands. The fear in the hearts of the apprentices began to   
drive their dark side instincts, and the magic gave them power.  
The five combatants remained paralyzed for what seemed like an eternity, partly with fear, and   
partly by the dictates of advanced swordsmanship. The youth slowly and deliberately lowered his saber,   
keenly aware of the almost imperceptible changes in attitude and stance that the Krath warriors affected.   
Judging that the element of surprise had been lost, the youth made a blindlingly fast leap and somersault   
from the elevated doorway position to an area just outdoors, flanking the warriors. Barlaam and his   
companion, Lonergan, the Paladins who had been outside, each took defensive postures leading with their   
small parrying blades. Joasaph and Crowther were both unsure how to proceed, as they had to exit the   
narrow doorway to assist their companions. This of course would have left them extremely vulnerable upon   
egress. The youth began a slow circle to his right, and Barlaam and Lonergan matched this with their own   
sidestepping. This is precisely what the youth had desired, since their response had positioned them with   
their backs to the doorway, unaware of their own companions' situation behind them.  
"I await my second Krath test of skill. I hope this proves more challenging than the first one…"   
the youth taunted. The assembled Krath grew enraged at the remark each to a man, and their former fear of   
the youth festered into blind hate.  
"Bastard!" hollered Lonergan. "I will drink your blood!" Lonergan performed a lunging thrust   
with his rapier, throwing his left hand and leg back to compensate for his shifting center of mass. The youth   
sidestepped the thrust and turned inside Lonergan, unexpectedly, as most would have turned away toward   
the outside, or simply retreated. The crimson blade was brought straight down, cleanly cutting Lonergan's   
rapier in two. The young paladin instinctively began to raise his parrying blade with the intent to thrust it   
deep into the youth's exposed kidneys, but this action was cut short; a second energy blade emerged from   
the other end of the youth's lightsaber like a red lightning bolt, severing Lonergan's left forearm. Within   
moments, before Lonergan could truly register the pain or horror of his injury, his life was promptly   
snuffed out when the youth performed a spinning disengagement into a defensive posture. Lonergan's   
upper torso and both severed legs fell within meters of his forearm.  
"Ahhhhhhh, gods!" lamented Barlaam, revolted and overwhelmed by the quick brutal slaughter of   
yet another boyhood companion by this unknown demon. Crowther was less vocal, promptly vomiting and   
then quickly staggering down the steps to join Barlaam. Joasaph had slipped away and was nowhere to be   
seen. The youth retracted one blade of his double-saber and assumed a middle stance, the tip of his blade at   
throat level of his opponents.  
The two paladins initiated a coordinated attack on the youth. After wiping the bile from his lips,   
Crowther began a series of lunges while Barlaam raised his hand and made a pushing motion. A cloud of   
dust and soil blew up from the ground into the youth's eyes, blinding him. The youth re-lit his double saber   
and spun it with one hand rapidly in a defensive circle as he backed away, the other hand rubbing his eyes.   
The crimson blade flashed perilously close to Crowther's chest, but the Krath parried it with a glancing   
blow from his short shielded blade. Barlaam sprinted to the left of the youth in an attempt to get inside his   
flank, but was thwarted by a backward leap into a handspring, resulting in a flip. Eyes finally clear, the   
youth bared his sharpened teeth at the two Krath then attacked them with fury.  
It was at this point that the heretofore-absent Joasaph (who has chosen an alternate exit from the   
hostel) made his reappearance, screaming a war cry while charging the running youth from his right side.   
The crimson saber blade flashed down through empty air where only a split-second before Crowther's arm   
had been. Barlaam thrusted at the youth's throat but missed, the blade passing behind the muscular neck.   
Joasaph, in desperation, threw his parrying blade like a missile at the whirling youth, which hit him   
squarely in the back but did not cut him. The youth yelled out in brief pain, then ignited his second blade in   
time to parry two simultaneous strikes, one high, one low.  
The youth spun the saber in a counter-clockwise turn, pushing Joasaph and Barlaam's blades   
respectively out away from their own bodies. This was closely followed by a lightning-fast leap and double   
kick that felled both Joasaph and Barlaam, who scrambled to their feet in the wake of the youth's uncanny   
agility and ferocity. Crowther had used this opportunity to pull a concealed blaster from under his tunic and   
snap off several wild shots at his continually moving opponent. Crowther's fright and frustration   
manifested itself as the youth managed to avoid every shot with his fluid, dance-like turns, finally kicking   
the blaster out of his hand. Crowther screamed and made a desperate curved thrust at the youth with his   
remaining weapon, who cut first a third, then two thirds of Crowther's rapier off in rapid succession.   
Crowther looked up from his worthless sword in just enough time to see the crimson blade of the youth as   
it beheaded him.  
Joasaph and Barlaam glanced at each other, briefly considering the four savaged corpses. Then   
they dropped their weapons and ran as fast as their legs could carry them.  
  
The eeopie slowly plodded its way down the trail, grunting softly to itself in the night air. It's burden was   
light this ride, as compared to the usual passengers. The being upon the beast's back was humanoid, if not   
for a rather extended cranium, and weighed not much more than seventy-five kilos. The slender man held   
the reins of the eeopie in his hands but rode the beast sidesaddle. Aegripa wore a look of consternation   
upon his brow; his ruminations were about to soon be intruded upon.  
"Easy now girl," said the swordmaster soothingly to his mount, as the beast began to rear a bit and   
whine. Aegripa peered down the dark road, squinting his eyes. His vigilance was rewarded with the   
puzzling (and pathetic) sight of two of his charges running helter-skelter, seemingly for their lives.  
"Maaaaasteeeeer! Heeeelp uuuuusss!" screamed the apprentice paladins, neither slowing from   
their frenzied pace.  
"Ah, what's this all about?" queried the master of his paladins. They ignored him and ran past at   
top speed causing his mount to sidestep and shake its head.  
"Whoa, steady girl…You two whelps, come back here!" hollered the swordmaster, but much to   
his chagrin the two young men retreated into the distance. Aegripa began shaking his head, but then slowly   
stopped and brought his ear up to one side, as if listening intently for something. His eyes suddenly   
widened and he reached quickly for his weapon.  
The youth appeared out of the night, striding down the dark path with long powerful steps. His   
saber was in his right hand, both blades extinguished (temporarily), and the gleam in his fiery eyes was   
almost as bright as the moonlight reflected off of his sharpened grin. The appearance of the youth startled   
the eeopie, which reared back on its hind legs, throwing its rider. Aegripa did not fall, but parlayed the   
throw into a somersault resulting in a dignified dismount. The youth strode to a halt, clearly impressed.  
"Old man, your agility is inspiring, but I advise you not to stand in the way of the quarry I seek,   
lest you become prey yourself," stated the youth. As he finished this declaration a red blade slowly hissed   
into sight.  
Aegripa appraised the lad carefully, while drawing his own weapon with his right hand. His left   
hand unfastened a short cape from around his waist, and this he held draped across his left arm.  
"If combat is what you desire, then I shall give you your wish. But first answer a question," the   
swordmaster asked cryptically.  
"Very well, old man. Ask your question." The lightsaber rose to the right side of the youth's face,   
poised.  
The old master slowly shifted his weight to his left leg, while easing his left arm back. He began a   
complicated twirling of the cape behind him as he extended his rapier out before him in his right hand.   
"Are you the young man who wounded and publicly humiliated one of my best warriors, paladin Kizil   
Bash, on a transport earlier this day?"  
The youth lowered his attitude perceptibly, and furrowed his brow. "I am the one who has done   
this thing. What make you of it?" the youth put forth.  
"I am Aegripa, the swordsman you so eagerly claimed to seek. The challenge and test by Kizil was   
unpardonable, an affront to your honor," the old man lowered his weapon and began to approach the youth   
whose lightsaber was still lit. "Completely unacceptable. Please accept my apology. The Krath are certainly   
a nobler sect than we were portrayed today. Come and speak with me," Aegripa beckoned.  
The youth deactivated his saber and slung it over his back. The two approached the other as if they   
might have been old friends.   
The youth bowed slightly and spoke. "You are the master Aegripa, I have looked forward to   
meeting you for some time now. Your reputation is well known, among those who might have reason to   
know. I need to inform you that it was necessary to kill several of your apprentices who came to challenge   
me this night," the youth disclosed, almost apologetically.  
"Six against one, with four killed and the remainder in terrified retreat? I commend you on your   
technique and skill. I wish there were more with your heart within our sect." A small sigh issued forth.   
"Shameful really. Might it be possible for you to give instruction to some of my students? I can offer you   
shelter and food, as well as pay for your services," offered the swordmaster.  
"I believe that may be possible, Patron Aegripa, but pay is not my first concern, to be frank. What   
I am interested in cannot be quantified," the youth paused, and then raised his eyes to meet the old man's,   
"There is a magic that you Krath possess, a dark skill, which is sometimes also referred to simply as the   
force."  
Aegripa seemed to consider this a moment. "Precisely what about this dark magic are you   
interested in, young fighter? What do you want to know?" the wizened master asked.  
  
"Everything."   
  
***  
  
  
The fates had long held their breath for this very moment. My will had brought you here now,   
through the cold and the dark, finally before me. The others could feel thy presence of course. They   
whispered amongst themselves at your coming as they waited, shrouded in shadow. All could feel the   
power that you brought to this forgotten place. Primal and untamed, it coursed through your veins and   
streamed like a black wake behind you. Your time had finally come, but mine was just beginning.  
A light pierces the gloom before me, intruding upon this hallowed ground. Now through the light a   
shadow, cast across the ancient floor, approaches.  
Come, boy. It is time for you to meet your destiny.  
  
V.  
  
  
Shadows played off the bookshelves filled with volumes of arcane lore, cast by the flickering of   
dozens of candles. Ancient weapons lined the walls of the room, contrasting sharply to the deep-hued   
tapestries. Hundreds of generations were represented on the dark oaken walls. The sacred knowledge of   
those generations that had been handed down throughout history was once again being passed in the center   
of the room to a new disciple.  
The youth's brow furrowed in concentration as he forced his hands into unnatural contortions,   
weaving complex patterns with his fingers. Patron Aegripa watched with eyes long used to such sights. For   
as long as could be remembered, the Krath Sect had instructed it's most adept students in the mysteries of   
the dark Krath Magic. The initiate was taught that through breathing, meditation, chanting and intricate   
forms made by the hands, one could see the future, influence the weather, or even move objects. With the   
highest levels of mastery, one could even use the magic as a weapon in combat.  
"Center the magic within your abdomen," instructed Aegripa in a soothing tone, "concentrate on   
your breathing…inhale through your nose…exhale through your mouth." The youth did as he was told,   
though a trace of aggravation was beginning to appear in his features. They had been working at this for   
weeks, and had made no apparent progress.  
"Good," Aegripa cooed, "you are progressing rapidly. In several months you should be ready to   
move small objects. Most apprentice Krath require several years before they can attempt that trick," the   
patron said with a smug air of satisfaction. He was proud of his new student, whom he viewed as a protégé.   
This one will go far, thought Aegripa. I have great things planned for him.  
The youth was growing uncomfortable after long hours in his unusual posture. He was   
concentrating on correct breathing, on his hand forms, on his eyelids, on the position of his own tongue in   
his mouth. A rivulet of perspiration gathered on the tip of his nose, but would not drop off, causing him   
further annoyance. His mind, while supposed to be blank, was a whirlwind of thoughts. He had plans for   
himself, for his future. He felt a sense that he was at the doorway to a larger world. He could feel   
something that could best be described as a calling. A call to was he was still unsure, but he knew that he   
was on the right path. But this training was so slow, so ineffectual…  
"Alright, that is enough for today. We shall continue with your meditations in the morning. Clean   
up this room, sweep the floor, and make sure to bathe before the evening meal. I have been most impressed   
with your progress to date." Patron Aegripa left the youth to his duties as he strode out into the courtyard.   
The youth watched him as he departed, standing up and stretching his sore muscles. As he began rubbing   
his hands to work out the cramps, he turned his head over his shoulder and looked at his surroundings. He   
squinted his eyes in concentration, and the flickering candles began to blow out one by one. The light of the   
last candle revealed the beginnings of a grin on the otherwise serious face.  
  
"Hold up!" yelled Sunni. The boy stole a glance over his shoulder to check on Q'uan, who was still   
climbing up after them. He redirected his gaze back up to an athletic child ahead of him on the steep rocky   
slope. He looked down at Sunni and Q'uan in slight frustration.  
"If you two can't keep up with me, I should leave both of you behind," hollered the child, who had   
risen up off his hands and assumed an awkward standing position.  
"We shouldn't even be out here in the first place, you know," admonished Q'uan, a tumble of   
rocks signaling his difficulty ascending. He had almost reached Sunni's level, and the other boy proffered   
an arm to assist him.  
"Yeah, you know you're gonna get us into big trouble," Sunni sniffed.  
"No one made you come with me. It was your choice," the leader reminded them. Sunni and   
Q'uan gained their footing and glanced at each other. Their eyes acknowledged to each other the truth in   
the older child's statement.  
"Are you coming or not?"  
The two younger boys glanced at each other again.  
"Just a minute," Q'uan muttered as he and Sunni began their climb anew.  
  
"Woah, check that out. What is it?" asked Sunni out loud, not really expecting an answer. The boy turned   
his head to look at Q'uan, who had the same wide-eyed expression on his face. He turned to look at the   
oldest child, who wore a look not of awe, but of insatiable curiosity.  
"Kham, you're not thinking about going down there are you?"  
"No. I'm through thinking about it," The oldest boy turned away from his two companions and   
began his way slowly but sure-footed down the incline to the object of their interest.  
  
A casual inspection may not have revealed it as anything out of the ordinary, considering the surroundings.   
It was a raised mound, fairly regular in shape. It was half-buried in the side of a low hill that had vegetation   
growing in small patches. At the distance the boys were at, it would merely have been just another part of   
the landscape. However, the oldest boy had brought a pair of 'borrowed' electrobinoculars with him,   
apparently with the knowledge that he would find something of interest that would specifically require   
them.  
That the three boys were out this far away from the orphanage was in itself unusual. They had   
planned several days in advance for this particular journey, and had left before sunrise to make it to the   
squat mountain that had only ever been beheld at a distance. They would catch hell when they returned, for   
sure, but the oldest boy had been so sure that something special was to be found out beyond the mound of   
earth. Something he said he saw in a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. The older children of the orphanage   
would speak tales about the mountain on occasion, scary tales meant to frighten the kids. Sunni and Q'uan   
had always looked up to their confidant and headstrong leader, and had resolved to accompany him on his   
journey beyond the mount despite the frightening tales.  
The trio of children examined the mound like archaeologists, trying to find the secret passage that   
would allow them access to the mysterious metal cave. It was the leader who found it, as fate would have it.   
He seemed to be possessed of a secret knowledge, like external forces were guiding him. After some   
considerable time clearing away rocks and debris, there was a large enough access for the children. Q'uan   
has been resourceful enough to bring a small lantern, and it was with this that they first peered into the   
gloom of the cave. Motes danced in the beam as it swept to and fro over the smooth unbroken walls.   
"I think it's a ship'" spoke Sunni. The other two looked at him with sharp disdain.   
"Of course it's a ship, you fool!" spat the leader. The look on Q'uan's face registered similar   
contempt, but he said nothing. This was short-lived as they pondered the implications of their discovery.  
After a brief huddle concerning strategy and potential options, the three children came to the   
conclusion that to make it this far on their quest without entering the mysterious vessel would be a mission   
failure. Anyway, Kham had made it clear that he would proceed without the other two if he must, so the   
issue was moot. The leader entered first with the lantern held in front of him, confident but cautious. Q'uan   
and Sunni followed close behind, bolstered by the unwavering determination shown by their leader, but a   
little scared nonetheless. As they progressed deeper into the corridor, the light from the outside world   
appeared to fade more quickly than it should have. Perhaps this was a figment of the boys' imaginations,   
but if it was it didn't console them any. As the trio moved inexorably onward, they took note of the odd   
material the bulkheads and overhead seem to be constructed out of.  
"What is this?" said Q'uan in a whisper, but the sound unexpectedly reverberated to make the   
question startling to the other two boys. Q'uan looked at them sheepishly as he reached out to touch the   
wall. "It's not metal or stone," he spoke in wonder as his fingers caused the surface of the wall to ripple like   
water in a pond.  
"Don't touch it," hissed Sunni, clearly uneasy with the whole venture. Q'uan withdrew his hand,   
and all three stared as the ripples dissipated.  
"If this is in fact a ship as we suspect, then it follows that there must be a bridge or control room.   
We must find our way there," said Kham matter-of-factly. "Here, I think I can see a door or hatch up   
ahead."  
After several minutes trek through the passageway, the three adventurers reached the portal in   
question. It had initially appeared to be much closer, but time and distance seemed distorted within the   
gloomy confines of the alien vessel. Q'uan and Sunni continued to peer back over their shoulders toward   
the entrance, but this was hopelessly lost in the distance. Kham felt no such distraction as he stared   
wordlessly at the strange door before him. At least, he was sure that it had to be a door. There were no   
controls associated with it as far as he could tell. There was no handle with which to open it either. It stood,   
round, almost like an orifice, like the tightly shut mouth of some great beast.  
As Kham assessed various methods of gaining access through the portal, Sunni and Q'uan grew   
increasingly uneasy. It wasn't just the strange darkness, which allowed them to see just enough. It wasn't   
just the loss of visual contact with their only known egress, or even the shimmering walls that seemed to   
defy most physical laws. Something had been wrong with this whole expedition from the outset, something   
that was beginning to manifest itself physically. The atmosphere in the chamber seemed extremely dense,   
like it was bearing down all over the adventurous boys. Why Kham didn't seem to notice or even care was   
baffling to the other two, who only had thoughts of leaving the evil place.  
"K…Kham, I really think we should go back. We aren't supposed to be in here," stammered   
Sunni.  
"I think he's right. Don't you hear that?" Q'uan asked. The child was referring to a low level but   
ever-present buzz that could barely be heard on a conscious level. It seemed to be gradually increasing in   
intensity yet was still indefinable.  
"Cowards. Turn back if you like," was all their leader replied. He was crouched down very close   
to the orifice examining every minute detail. The chamber seemed to fade all at once into an even steeper   
darkness, but the boys couldn't be sure if it was simply just a trick of light and shadow.  
"There's got to be a way past this." Kham reached out a hand and touched the alien portal, then   
yanked it quickly away. The portal appeared to actually wince at his touch then slowly, noiselessly opened,   
pulling itself aside as if great-unseen muscles were causing it to dilate. Sunni and Q'uan stumbled over   
each other backing away, and even Kham took a slight step backwards. The three stood in shocked silence,   
unable to decide what to do next.  
"Follow me," Kham said over his shoulder as he stepped within.  
  
The room was obviously important, most likely the bridge or some type of central control station, yet there   
didn't seem to be external viewscreens. It would appear that this was what the three boys had been looking   
for, but only Kham seemed pleased with its discovery. Sunni and Q'uan had long since gone form hesitant   
and were now simply terrified.  
Roughly pentagonal, the room was like no bridge of a starship the boys had ever seen or heard   
about. In the center was a raised console standing alone like some altar to technology. There were no   
visible controls; just engravings like runes or glyphs, but nothing like a switch or lever. A dim light made   
it's way from somewhere near the ceiling, and shone more or less onto the central controls though the   
source was invisible.  
"I think there's something behind that thing," whispered Q'uan. Some type of shape came into   
view, huddled on the far side of the central console.  
"We should go see what it is," ventured Kham, but all remained rooted to the spot.  
"Come on, let's all three go look. There's nothing to be afraid of," reassured Kham with newfound   
confidence. The leader jerked his horned head toward the console and began to deliberately make his way   
around toward it. He paused to look back, waiting for the other two to join him. Once they reluctantly did,   
he resumed his circuitous path. The three boys may have looked comical in another situation; all wide-  
eyed, Sunni clinging to Q'uan's sleeve. Any trace of humor that the boy's might have found in the   
predicament faded upon what they discovered on the other side of the central station. Kham gasped   
audibly, and Sunni nearly tore Q'uan's sleeve off his shirt.  
"Gods, who is he?" said Q'uan, in a mixture of disgust and wonder.  
  
He had been dead a long time; there was no doubt of that. What remained of the individual's leathery rotted   
skin was pulled back off his dusty skull. The figure was seated, it's back against the altar/console in it's   
final resting place. It wore a cloak of finely tailored dark material. The cloak was hooded, and the cowl rose   
up and over the mummified head, where wisps of hair could be seen protruding. A silver clasp in the shape   
of two dragons secured the front of the dead creature's ensemble.  
Of more interest than the corpse's clothing was the object in its lap; the skeletal fingers of its left   
hand still clasped around it in a literal death grip. At first glance, it appeared to be a long metal cylindrical   
handle, just under the length of a man's arm. Upon closer scrutiny, Kham came to the realization that the   
object was in fact a weapon. An ancient weapon by the looks of it, meticulously designed and eccentrically   
shaped.  
Unaware until this moment, Sunni and Q'uan both comprehend that the heretofore barely   
perceptible buzz each had heard within their heads had now swelled into a rumble like the tumult of water   
over falls. The sound had grown almost deafening and they found difficulty breathing as well. Kham,   
mesmerized, ignored the phenomena and reached his hand out taking hold of the metallic cylinder.  
"No Kham, don't!" cried Sunni but the older boy did not listen. Sunni and Q'uan watched in sheer   
horror as the cloaked corpse grabbed hold of Kham with it's right hand and began to bring itself to it's   
bony feet.  
In it's left it continued to clasp the lightsaber.  
  
  
  
Half a hundred sweating brows attempted to take what refuge they could in the shadows of the towering   
minarets. None to a man could ever remember being driven this hard in all their years of training. Nor had   
they been. When Patron Aegripa of the Krath Sect announced that he had invited a guest instructor to teach   
fighting skills to the students, most found this not of much interest. When this new instructor revealed itself   
to be an extravagantly dressed youth, as young as some of the newest apprentice students, resentment   
started immediately.  
Had the master lost his mind? It had to be some sort of joke thought some. The master was known   
to have a wry sense of humor, but these were serious times; with the recent deaths of several senior   
students by a sinister lone swordsman, and the unexpected exile of the revered paladin Kizil Bash for   
reasons unknown. Perhaps this was the master's way of humiliating the apprentices into being better   
fighters, by suggesting that a boy was a better swordsmen then they –better enough to teach. Point well   
taken thought most of the Krath, we understand master, we will train harder. But this was no joke.   
Kneeling around the central part of the main courtyard within the citadel, the paladins apprentice and   
fellowcraft alike knew that the youth with the crown of horns was certainly nothing to derive amusement   
from.  
"You see! Relying on the thrust as your main attack is totally limiting!" stated the youth loudly.   
Ever since training had begun, the youth had taken his role as instructor with all seriousness. He   
immediately initiated a hard and fast regime of fighting occupying all the waking hours of the paladins.   
Master Aegripa watched off in the distance, occasionally bending down to appreciate a small flower or   
shrub. All the while the senior students complained about their misfortune.  
"This is some sort of trick," gasped Trier between breaths, "he may look young but he must be   
much older to have that much experience"  
"I…have no…. idea…" panted Chi'ro, clearly exhausted from several hours of continuous   
fencing. Their side conversation was soon interrupted however.  
"Silence! You two! Have you something important to contribute to the lesson?" the youth   
challenged haughtily. He jumped down off the slightly raised dais and strode toward Chi'ro and Trier.   
"Both of you, up!" he commanded. Trier could hardly contain his contempt toward the boy, but Chi'ro shot   
him a look and the two rose slowly.  
"Begging your pardon, instructor, I simply commented that you seemed very young to be teaching   
martial arts," Trier challenged. Snickering could be heard in the background. Trier rose to his full height, at   
least a head taller than the youth. Chi'ro stood with him, slightly shorter.  
"No offense meant, instructor," chided Chi'ro wiping the sweat from his brow. "You do seem to   
know a tremendous amount of theory," The youth's fiery eyes gleamed at this display, and a smile played   
across his lips.  
"Theory is no good unless it is put to practice, correct? Good! Now the both of you, to the center!"   
the youth ordered, one hand on his hip while the other thrust out toward the dais. Chi'ro and Trier slowly   
picked up their blunt fibersteel training sticks and moved doggedly to the combat floor.  
A loud thuck caused Chi'ro to spin around rapidly in time for a spray of hot blood to splash across his face.   
The confusion clearly registered as Chi'ro watched the deep crimson blood pool out of the head of Trier   
that had been smashed in by the brutal youth.   
  
"Never turn your back on an opponent!" chided the youth, as Trier lay unconscious, the crimson   
pool from his broken skull growing larger by the moment. The gathered Krath gasped and turned pale to a   
man –all save Chi'ro. As the assemblage including Patron Aegripa looked on, Chi'ro began trembling, his   
knuckles white around his training weapon. Veins in his head and neck pulsed as his eyes glassed over and   
focused with terrible intensity on the youthful object of his hate.  
"Ah, now we get to the heart of it," the youth said with a smirk. "Yes, that's right…come, attack!   
Avenge your fallen companion! Now, attack!"  
Chi'ro needed no more encouragement from the horned youth. The paladin exploded into action,   
bringing the training sword down hard in an overhead strike. The youth parried the savage blow and   
counter-attacked with a horizontal strike to Chi'ro's ribcage. The Krath let out a gasp and fell to his knees.  
"Overhead strike defeated by high parry and cut to the chest! You, get up!" the youth commanded.   
The students watched in disbelief, gathering more closely around the 'lesson' in progress. Patron Aegripa   
took careful notice.  
Chi'ro was still bent double on one knee, hands around his two cracked ribs. He spat onto the   
ground and brought himself to his feet using his training weapon as support. The youth paced back and   
forth slowly, never taking his eyes off his downed opponent. Trier's head lolled slightly and the whites of   
his eyes could be seen behind his fluttering lids. The impatient guest instructor spoke again, "Up! Up!".  
The injured paladin thrust himself forward hoping to catch the youth off guard. He screamed as he   
began to swing his weapon with large diagonal slashes. The youth parried each weighty blow as he backed   
away slightly. "Yes that's it!" said the youth as he continued to parry strike after strike. Chi'ro's attack was   
savage as it was inspired; their weapons clashed high, allowing the paladin to strike the youth's face with   
the handle of his weapon. The youth had anticipated the move so the blow was insignificant, however   
Chi'ro followed up high, low, then high gain. The youth wore a smile now, as he leapt several meters into   
the air and kicked the paladin's already injured ribs. Chi'ro winced and gasped, but continued with a   
forward roll followed by a strong horizontal cut from his knees that took a full 180? arc. He allowed the   
momentum of this cut to carry him into a sideways roll as the agile youth once again dodged his strike and   
counter-attacked with a downward swing.  
Chi'ro grabbed a fistful of dirt and rose with the intention of throwing it into the youth's eyes, but   
a sharp smack and a cloud of dust marked where Chi'ro's face had been just moment's before. The Krath   
paladin lay in a crumpled heap on the earth, not far from his companion, hands covering his broken and   
bloody face. He was twisting in agonizing counter-clockwise circles, slowly propelled by flailing legs. The   
horned youth stood over him in complete victory.  
"Now this one was a fighter", bellowed the youth, as he raised his weapon over his head, poised   
for the deathblow. "Learn from his example and some day you may face an honorable end in combat!" The   
youth tensed up his face and arms in preparation for the killing blow while the students watched in stunned   
horror.   
"Enough!" commanded Patron Aegripa.  
  
The paladins parted like an obedient sea, allowing the revered head of their order to pass   
unmolested through their midst. The youth monitored his approach with expectant eyes, his posture one of   
challenge.  
"Stop this insanity at once!" bellowed Aegripa as he walked regally toward the standing youth   
and two prostrate paladins.  
"I have tolerated your erratic behavior these months because you are an exceptionally gifted   
student, but no more! Injuries during training are an unpleasant reality, but they build skill. Your brutality is   
inexcusable!" Aegripa came to a halt within meters of the youth, who had lowered his training weapon but   
hadn't lowered the combative challenge his eyes presented. Aegripa turned to his students and spoke.  
"I requested that this individual train you in fighting because of his skill. My plan was have you all   
benefit from his intense instruction. Now I offer my apologies to you. It was a mistake to allow this   
monster to abuse you for his own sadistic amusement. This mistake shall be corrected now!" Aegripa   
turned angrily back to the youth with his dismissal set to issue forth from his lips, but he was subsequently   
cut off.  
"Enough prattle old man," the youth said defiantly as he threw his weapon to the ground. "You   
have all learned far more from me than I could ever hope to learn from you," he said with a sneer.  
"You ungrateful whelp!" shot Aegripa. He was furious with the youth and with his own lack of   
judgement, and advanced angrily toward him. "How dare you address me in that tone, after all I have   
taught you! Get out, now, and never return to this place!"  
"I will go, old man, but it is on my terms and not yours. I will be happy to leave you and your   
pathetic order. Your feeble skills are laughable, and your magic paltry. Perhaps you can chant and make me   
disappear!" The shocked students watched in embarrassment as their revered patron turned a bright shade   
of crimson. When Aegripa finally spoke, it was with grim finality.  
"You are a menace, arrogant one. You will leave, now, before I cause you to regret your foul   
words…" Aegripa raised his hands before him and began to weave them into the now familiar patterns that   
signified working of a magical suit.  
"Old fool!" yelled the youth as he raised his hand suddenly toward the master paladin. Aegripa   
was blown rearward several meters and landed on his back, stunned by the incredible power of the youth.  
"Hand motions, breathing and meditation!" The youth made his way toward the shaken master.  
"Continue to beg for your power like scraps from a dinner table! The Force is my ally, and mine to   
command!"  
  
It had been two years since the incident aboard the pirate freighter, where the pompous Krath Paladin had   
his honor ripped from him. The youth, certainly, knew he would not get away with the fearsome act   
unchallenged. But he had faced this eventuality from the very start. The youth had been aware that the   
burly warrior-priest had an aura of power about him from the moment they encountered each other. He had   
made an educated guess that this man was a member of the sect he so sought out, that group of dark side   
adepts whose warrior skills and powerful magic had terrified beings for generations. The youth had made it   
his mission to find this sect, this unholy group, for he knew that he must test his prowess against the live   
blades of masters, for to fail to do so meant failure in life. When the suspicious Paladin had finally admitted   
his affiliation in a fit of arrogance, the youth instantly decided on his course of action. He knew that the   
wounding of the fellowcraft Paladin (through his sacred tattoo, no less) would cause a pain that only   
revenge could hope to ease. And he had guessed, again correctly, that his brethren Krath would attempt to   
bring this vengeance.   
After he has used this sect to tap into the potential of the dark side of the Force he knew lay   
tantalizingly in his grip, he discarded them like so much trash to begin his true quest, the quest that would   
lead him to ultimate power.  
  
These memories ran through his mind as he made his way from the life pod that had so recently   
deposited him on this forsaken world. The courier that he had commissioned had brought him far, but no   
amount of money could convince even the mercenary crew to land upon what they considered a haunted   
world. After threats and the eventual turnover of all his credits, the captain allowed him to take one of the   
emergency escape pods. The youth disregarded warnings that there was only a limited supply of food and   
water, and that the communications were short-range at best.   
All this he left behind as he made his way into the bleak grey distance.  
  
  
***  
  
The youth paused briefly to gather his courage and steel himself for his procession down the   
massive corridor. All around him he could feel the pulling and pushing of invisible forms, and he imagined   
a hundred accusatory eyes upon him. Instinctively he began to reach for his weapon, but checked that   
impulse.  
It took nearly an hour to reach the end of the passage, which opened into a circular hall. The   
youth strode purposefully into the awesome chamber, though his mind was filled with uncertainty. A single   
shaft of light stabbed down from an unseen point high above to exactly mark the center. Shadows danced   
along the walls as the travel-weary youth made his way into the light.  
"Why am I here?" the youth screamed into the void defiantly.  
  
VI.  
  
At the sound the light from above flickered, then dimmed to a glimmer of its former luminosity. From   
every direction the youth sensed approaching forms. Drawing his lightsaber and igniting both ends, he   
wheeled around in a defensive circle, crouched in an improbably low stance, his left hand held out   
before him. The figures moved in, some clearly human, some clearly not; all were shrouded in black   
garments. The youth felt power and malice emanating from these creatures and was certain his death was   
imminent. He was determined to fight them until the last beat of his heart.  
As if a switch had been thrown, the congregation ceased their approach and gathered in a circle around the   
youth. They stopped and turned to face the end of the corridor opposite the entrance. Each figure   
genuflected and bowed its head in the presence of a new arrival. It was a human man, draped in a black   
cloak, his face mostly concealed by a cowl. There seemed to be a faint shimmering blue glow about his   
body.   
This form made a slight gesture with his hand and the youth's double-lightsaber promptly extinguished   
itself. The youth staggered under the emotional weight of the event and fell to his knees. Burning tears   
welled suddenly in his eyes and at long last he knew his place in the order of the universe had been found   
when finally the hooded figure spoke.   
  
"Welcome, child, I have been expecting you," the mysterious and powerful figure intoned. "In   
time, you will call me Master." He paused, and he gave the youth a long, slow regard, up and down. "Come   
with me."  
These last words were a command, if softly spoken. The youth rose up from his knees, and   
followed as this lord, this power, his new master, turned and retreated along the corridor.  
  
The youth had never known any real master but the stinking squalor and depravity that an   
orphaned child must endure. The Zabrak were not indigenous to the planet, and racial prejudice ran   
rampant. Even in the enlightened Galactic Republic there still existed the ancient hatreds. Sidestepping   
blatant genocide, the Iridonians simply levied heavy taxes against the Zabrak. The most outrageous of   
these was a tax on children. This resulted in many abandoned Zabrak orphans whom the Iridonians   
exploited to great effect. The orphanages were little more than labor camps, and conditions were harsh.   
Like many other Zabrak on Iridonia, the youth was an orphan. He suffered any number of indignities in his   
young life, as he fought for what little possessions he had, while he in turn was himself forced to resort to   
petty theft.  
  
He trailed behind, at a respectful distance, and knelt again when the cloaked figure took a seat in a   
small chamber to one side of the long hallway. They were alone. The youth did not raise his eyes. A smile   
played across the lips of Darth Sidious.   
"What is your name, boy?" the Sith Lord inquired of the youth whose horned head was still   
bowed reverently.   
The youth spoke with a trembling voice. "I have no name but that which you give me,"   
Ah yes, thought Sidious, so eager to be my servant.   
"Then rise, child." The youth got to his unsteady feet but kept his eyes averted. Darth Sidious had   
had a name waiting for him. "From this moment forth, you shall be called Maul."   
He would never again wear rags. He would never again sleep with vermin. He would never again   
endure the unwanted attentions of older, stronger boys. He would hold the rage and indignity and filth and   
hate close to his heart to keep it burning. At long last the youth looked into the face of the Last Lord of the   
Sith.  
And Maul wept with joy.   
  
Ritual governed how the Order was to be perpetuated. Used were the ancient techniques developed by Lord   
Bane and passed down through generations of Sith. The training was difficult but the rewards intoxicating;   
it was all that Maul had dreamed of, and more. Instruction under Lord Sidious was the antithesis of the   
ponderous Krath approach. Tiresome boring meditation was rare. Emphasis was placed on action; weapons   
training was immediate, and powerful Force-skills were nurtured. The knowledge came in waves: armed   
and unarmed combat, infiltration, piloting, stealth, interrogation techniques, and physical conditioning to   
climatic extremes. All this was expected of the Sith student and at a brutal pace  
For the few who demonstrated the most cunning ingenuity, brute strength or skilled technique   
came rewards – the ultimate reward for subservience and exhausting study was an audience with the Master   
himself. That was what every adept yearned for ultimately; a meeting with their Lord.  
There was always ritual to be observed. Within his private chambers the dread master would sit in   
quiet contemplation while the student remained reverently knelt. When finally moved by the dark will of   
the Force, the Lord of the Sith would give his adepts glimpses into the dark side, glimpses enough to   
tantalize and taint. The will of the Force would slowly be revealed by it's dark oracle, as the Master would   
draw aside the veil and allow the adept to peer into the abyss. Anger, fear, aggression… these are what the   
self-righteous Jedi claimed the dark side originated from and perpetuated. And in part, they were right. It   
was from the master that Maul learned the history of the Sith and their thousand-year secret war against the   
ancient enemy, the Jedi. This cold war, this thousand-year plan was known as the Great Work. And great it   
was indeed. First set in motion by his Dark Majesty Lord Bane, the Sith lay in wait…planning, scheming,   
massing a thousand-years worth of wealth, material and influence. Gaining complete mastery over the dark   
side of the Force, until the moment to strike was right.   
Maul also learned that the Great Work was in its final stages, but he did not yet comprehend his   
place within it. But once again ritual was to govern this as well. For Maul also learned that it was ritual for   
there to be two Sith Lords at any given time, no more, no less. Currently there was only the Master.  
In time, he would be allowed to express his vengeance, of that he was certain.   
Years would pass; until then he would train. And learn.  
  
  
"Feral, Nihil, Maul. Come forth," commanded the Dark Lord of the Sith. The three chosen stepped   
forward, slowly, reverently. The rest of the Assembly was dismissed, the training hall cleared. The chosen   
three were draped in nearly identical black garb. Feral raised her head regally, chin high. She stared   
directly into the face of the Master. Maul maintained a similar posture, however his eyes were respectfully   
averted. Nihil crossed his four massive arms while baring his teeth in a wolfish grin. The three adepts stood   
waiting with great anticipation.   
  
"Sith tradition dictates that there shall be only two Dark Lords at any given time, no more, no   
less," Sidious spoke slowly, "a Master and an Apprentice. The three of you have been chosen from others   
to vie for the Apprenticeship. You shall do battle, to the death, and whosoever remains shall be my new   
Sith Lord," the Master slipped his hands into his robe and slowly backed away. The chosen three, stunned   
at the revelation, glanced briefly at each other, then at Lord Sidious.  
A second later, five energy blades snapped to life.   
Three figures circled each other slowly, all with deadly intent. Feral's sapphire eyes were narrowed to slits   
as the glow from her saber scintillated off her chromatic skin. She crossed her slender legs behind her as   
she sidestepped cautiously, keeping her awareness open to predict the movements of her two opponents.   
It was Nihil who moved first, swinging two massive laser swords, one at Feral, one at Maul. Maul blocked   
the blow but was staggered by Nihil's strength, while Feral gracefully back-flipped away, her white hair   
shaking loose from its bindings. Nihil shook with peals of mad laughter as he strode, lightsabers flashing in   
two of his four arms. Feral swung a mighty blow at Nihil's leg but this was batted away with a   
saber as one of his free hands struck Feral savagely across the face. Feral fell to her knees briefly, but rolled   
away just as Nihil's massive foot stomped the ground where her head had been but a moment before.   
Ferociously, Maul wheeled his double-ended saber around in twisting circular patterns. He struck first high,   
then low, then again in an upward blow at Nihil, who blocked the first two with his left saber and the third   
blow with his right. Maul bared his teeth and snapped off a sharp kick to Nihil's kidney causing the hulking   
warrior to wince. Before Maul could press the advantage he had to block a swing at his head from behind   
by Feral.   
Nihil threw a punch at Maul's head, who ducked then swung up into a twisting leap. Nihil's left saber   
crashed into Feral's guard, who feinted low then swung her saber upward, clearing a path for a vicious kick   
from one muscular leg. Nihil grabbed her ankle with his lower right hand, and was only an instant away   
from severing her leg when a large rock smashed into the side of the head. Feral fell to the ground out of   
Nihil's grasp as one of his hands reached to the injury. Two more rocks flew ---both thrown by invisible   
commands from Maul, who followed up with a frenzy of blows scarcely blocked by Nihil's sabers.  
Lord Sidious watched with great interest at the battle raging before him. A slight smirk crossed his   
countenance. "Good…good…" he murmured.  
Sweat glistened on Maul's head and beaded around the bases of his vestigial horns as he fought Nihil   
and Feral simultaneously. The double lightsaber spun faster than the eye could follow as he attacked Feral   
from behind and was himself attacked from behind by Nihil. Feral dropped to the ground in a gymnastic   
split with her saber raised behind her head, blocking Maul's downward strike. She immediately swung   
around in a attempt to leg sweep the horned warrior, but Maul performed a lateral flip and torso twist in   
answer simultaneously swinging his weapon horizontally at Nihil, who was once again on his feet and   
lumbering toward the smaller combatants.   
The mammoth creature was now laughing again swinging his oversized laserswords in wide arcs. Feral   
pushed from a handspring to her feet, and then leapt nearly four meters into the air. The aerial display   
distracted Nihil and Maul seized the opportunity to fearsome effect; the very tip of one energy blade   
flashed at incredible speed across Nihil's abdomen. Feral was on her feet and in an offensive posture when   
Nihil staggered to an awkward stop. The bewilderment on the behemoth's broad face belied the truth that   
the rest of his body knew for fatal fact---his belly neatly parted, allowing raw entrails to bulge forth.   
The terminal wound seemed only to plunge Nihil deeper into the pit of insanity; he used his two lower arms   
to contain the spilling organs, raised his swords with the remaining limbs and began his attack anew. Feral   
spat in disgusted disbelief, backing away from this improbable antagonist. Maul hesitated for only a   
moment before breaking into a sprint and vaulting into a double summersault over Nihil's head.   
The four-armed giant staggered forward, missing an overhand strike and instead plunged his blade deep   
into the stone wall behind; the energy blade quickly turned the stone to liquid slag as Nihil's maniacal   
laughter echoed throughout the chamber. He observed in complete detachment as Feral's long slender blade   
neatly severed his lower left arm. Intestines, no longer contained, spilled from Nihil's body, and he began   
to stumble and trip over them. Maul, inspired by the gruesome sight, seized the giant's feet with a Force-  
grip. Feral followed his lead, raising her hand and battering the stricken warrior with an unseen blow. The   
Force was notoriously difficult to employ directly against another Force-adept opponent in the   
heat of battle, but when distracted it was equally difficult to defend against. Nihil fell backward and landed   
with a resounding thud. The hysterical laughter continued unabated even as his face began to contort   
grotesquely in the unseen suffocating grips that both Maul and Feral had on his trachea.   
With a final gurgle and shudder, the would-be-Sith called Nihil lay dead before the two remaining warriors.  
The rasping voice of Darth Sidious shattered the morbid pause in the fighting. "For Nihil it was not meant   
to be. Now one of you will fulfill your destiny and take your place at my side."   
The battered duo did not engage one another immediately, but instead backed   
away and began slowly circling. Although in supreme physical shape, both Maul and Feral were struggling   
to catch breath. Maul took the respite to tear away at some burned clothing and wrap a strip of material   
around a cauterized wound on his arm. Feral regarded him carefully while she ripped out a stinking handful   
of her own singed hair. Their weapons hummed and crackled with scarlet energy, and each combatant's   
face was distorted in the glow. Maul finally twirled his double-saber, indicating his intention to resume the   
fight.   
  
From beneath his shrouded cowl Lord Sidious' eyes followed the action as it unfolded.  
Maul, always willing to employ psychology against an opponent, leapt upon the still torso of Nihil and   
glared down at the beautiful but deadly Feral. Seemingly unimpressed, she began somersaulting toward the   
horned swordsman finishing with a 720? spin ending in a kick. Maul easily dodged and performed a lateral   
spin flip in answer. Turning to face her opponent, Feral raised her weapon in high challenge. Maul   
answered with his dual-bladed weapon at his waist, held forward --- the blade down.   
The female Sith struck out toward the Zabrak's head. Maul raised the forward blade of his weapon to meet   
hers, then forced it down and brought the opposite blade up in a high arc to the left side of Feral's face. She   
ducked the blow and swung at Maul's legs, barely missing as he jumped two meters to avoid the cut. In   
midair Maul reversed his grip on the dual saber and brought it down upon Feral's head –but the hoped for   
lethal blow was blocked and Maul received a solid kick to the kidney for his overconfidence. Feral   
followed up the attack with vicious efficiency swinging at his left side, which he blocked aggressively with   
the appropriate side blade, then to his right side, which he blocked with the right blade. Maul pushed up   
and away with the low-held right blade pushing Feral backward off balance –he quickly raised his hand and   
blasted the white-haired warrior onto her back using the Force. Feral's weapon skipped harmlessly away   
across the dirt floor.  
Darth Sidious pursed his lips slightly as he watched the horned youth with the double lightsaber approach   
his female adept, who was on her back, retreating with flailing arms and legs.  
Maul shook his head in an effort to fling the perspiration and snarled at the fallen woman as he approached   
within a meter of her. Her eyes were all one solid color so it was difficult to gauge the depth of her fear, but   
thoughts were premature; the woman's beautiful face softened as she raised a trembling hand in front of   
her.   
"Please… I beg you… I beg you for mercy…" The woman's voice reverberated   
through the chamber in a distinctly odd manner and Maul found his resolve to kill waver slightly. Damned   
voice trick, thought Maul. He shook his head and squinted his eyes, and yet it seemed that Feral looked so   
beautiful where she lay, and so vulnerable… his eyes wandered from hers … to her lips… to her scantly   
concealed breasts…   
The loss of his lightsaber, kicked suddenly from his grasp brought him back to reality. The second swift   
kick, this time directed to his groin, punctuated that. Feral was on him in a flash, delivering a hail of kicks   
to face and torso. A last jump-scissors kick to the chin sent him reeling, cursing his own stupidity and lack   
of concentration. Maul stumbled to his feet trying to defend himself from Feral's strikes long enough to   
mount his own attack. She threw a right hand to his solar plexus and he sidestepped, turning into her punch   
and seizing her arm, allowing her own momentum mostly to pull her forward. The horned   
youth perfectly executed a complicated kick with his left leg behind his back striking Feral in her head; she   
rolled away in a scramble to grab her fallen saber. Maul extended his gloved hand and once again called   
upon the invisible dark power that was beginning to consume him. His weapon flew into his hand, ignited   
and was swinging at his opponent before she could possibly reach hers. Feral froze with the knowledge,   
waited helplessly for the killing blow that arced toward her and never connected. Maul looked with   
stunned disbelief as his lightsaber crashed directly into a wall of nothing, scarce centimeters from Feral's   
skull.   
More inexplicably the weapon extinguished itself and was yanked from the victorious warrior's grasp,   
streaking across the chamber and into the waiting hands of the master Dark Lord of the Sith. The   
bewildered youth raised his eyes to Lord Sidious who gently stroked the silver weapon as he spoke.  
"I cannot very well allow you to kill one skilled such as she. After all, if   
you were to perish who would I have to replace you?  
You have done well, Darth Maul…"   
  
Lil intentionally took her time, taking a circuitous indirect route to deliver her message. She would do   
anything to avoid a meeting with the new apprentice Dark Lord. She was one of the few that were not   
terrified of the Master; after all he seemed like such a nice old man. She knew not to pester him of course,   
and to mind her manners, but when she saw him or spoke to him she never knew fear. This was not so with   
Darth Maul. Lil hated him, hated the way he acted, hated the way he looked. She paused, picking up a   
small pebble off the ground to examine it, at the same time tracing small circles on the   
ground with her toe. She hated his smooth deep voice, and shivered at the thought of it.   
The master had made his choice, however, and that was naturally to be respected. Obviously the old man   
found something special in Maul to select him as one of the three. It was well known how Maul had proved   
himself in brutal combat with Feral and Nihil, but the brutality had not ended there. Lord Maul was not to   
be trifled with, and the rest of the followers kept their distance. For as much respect and awe as they had for   
the Master, they kept the same amount of terror in reserve for the Apprentice.  
Lil remembered how one of the circle, a former Jedi called Kobo Daishi had failed to show the proper   
respect to Lord Maul. His internal organs had been twisted into knots and then squashed into jelly by an   
unseen grasp. Daishi died vomiting up his own innards as Maul watched indifferently, black-gloved   
hand miming a crushing grip. All because Daishi had accidentally brushed against the Dark Lord's   
lightsaber.   
The Master had done nothing, of course. The murderous act was well within the new Dark Lord's   
prerogative. The others detested and feared Maul to the core of their being, but knew better than to ever   
challenge him, not under any circumstances. Lil made her way around the twisting passage and told herself   
she could put her task off no longer. This area was deserted -it was wise to maintain as much distance from   
Lord Maul as possible. She briefly fondled the message cylinder in her small hands and crept through the   
half-open door of the Apprentice Lord's chamber.   
It was gloomy in the room and Lil was about to call out when she heard a peculiar buzzing sound from the   
far end of the camber, behind a partition. Curiosity drew her against her better judgment, and she tiptoed   
over to the screen and peered around it. Darth Maul lay on a spartan mat, lightsaber upon his chest. He had   
changed in the time he had become the new Dark Lord. His face had been tattooed in a hideous array of   
ancient Sith hieroglyphs, and the horns on his head no longer shone like polished ivory but were dirty and   
stained, encrusted with plaque.   
Lil held her breath as she looked at the lounging Dark Lord, his upper body bare to the waist. He was a   
mass of sinewy muscle, coiled like a spring. Lil blushed at her thoughts, the instinctive appreciation of such   
prime form and looked away briefly. She quickly looked back as an elusive, sudden motion caught her eye.   
A large dragonfly lay in three distinct pieces on the chest of Darth Maul. It had not been there previously; it   
had been airborne and had been the object of his attention for the entire span of time. In that one swift, and   
scarcely seen movement the Dark Lord had lit his saber and cut the creature into three pieces in mid flight.   
The saber landed upon his chest before the pieces of the insect. Lil let out a small squeak.  
"Come Lil, I know you are there watching," Maul spoke in a syrupy sweet voice. "Have you   
something for me?" The Dark Lord's words held a hint of a salacious smirk, but his expression never   
changed and his eyes remained pointed at the ceiling.  
Lil spoke in a quavering whisper. "L…Lord Maul, I didn't mean to disturb you, b…but I bear a   
message from the Master."   
In a single fluid motion Lord Maul sat upright and snatched the cylinder out of Lil's grip. The young girl   
jumped and took a small step back, but kept her eyes on the Dark Lord's tattooed face, watching his   
expression as he read his Master's message. Darth Maul's fiery eyes widened then finally closed as he   
pondered the implications of Darth Sidious' plan. The final phase of the Great Work had been   
implemented. Maul's own Infiltrator was at that very moment being readied for the long trip to Coruscant,   
the opulent Galactic Capital and ignorant epicenter of it's impending demise. On the surface of the city-  
planet was the very stronghold of the enemy, the Jedi Temple itself. Lord Maul snorted derisively at the   
concept, liking to think of the Temple more as a stockyard filled with cattle awaiting their slaughter. For   
the Sith the biding of time was over. Now, after a thousand years, they would strike.  
The fine hair on the back of Lil's neck stood on end when Lord Maul finally whispered:  
"At last…"  
  
Epilogue  
  
You are gone now, taken from me from the most hated of our enemies in the hour of our return. Luck on the   
part of the young Jedi perhaps. But there is no such thing as luck. Only the mysterious will of the Force.  
The Republic congratulates itself over its victory against the Federation fools, while the Jedi and the bitch   
Naboo Queen coo reassurances. It was the will of the Force that led us to this vergence, the slave child   
whom I have come to know as the living prophecy of the thousand-year plan. Twilight is upon the Republic.   
The final mechanism of the Great Work is set in irrevocable motion.  
As the instrument of the plan you knew no equal, Lord Maul. But you were never the Chosen One and never   
could be. Your will to serve the darkness was too pure. Hate? Yes. Vengeance? Certainly…. Your   
difference from the Tatooine child was this: you did not lust.  
Prophecy is not exclusive to the Jedi.  
  
  



End file.
